SHIELD's Sword
by GhostWriterDT
Summary: He was not a sword forged in this world but in another, yet he would allow himself to be wielded in the best interest of her denizens. Especially against a threat as dangerous as the Mad Titan himself.
1. Prologue

**S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Sword**

* * *

He was not a sword forged in this world but in another, yet he would allow himself to be wielded in the best interest of her denizens. Especially against a threat as dangerous as the Mad Titan himself.

* * *

**A YEAR AGO**. **LOCATION UNKNOWN**

The air was cold. His back was stiff. His body was foreign. With great effort, the teenager finally opened his eyes. The whiteness washed over his vision and threatened to overwhelm his sight. He held up a hand to shield his eyes and immediately felt relief. However, his attention was drawn elsewhere.

He felt a burning sensation. It came from his chest. He finally remembered to breathe. The air was as cold in his lungs as it felt on his skin. Also, he noticed his body was shivering. But instinctively, his body prioritized air fast. Drawing his first breath, his nostrils were assaulted by the staleness of the air. It smelled of antiseptic. From a hospital room. _Wait! Why was I in a hospital?_

The boy searched through the dense fog of his memories. But he came up empty. His mind was a locked box inside a vault. And by the looks of it, he had lost the key. In desperation, he mentally slammed his fists against the metaphysical vault. It shuddered and trembled from his assault. He could almost grasp the answer, the knowledge, but it remained stubbornly out of reach.

His memories were pushed aside when he opened his eyes. They had finally adjusted to the brightness and to the colors. He withdrew his hand. Without hesitation, he turned his head from side to side and discovered that the world was horizontal.

No, it was _he_ who was horizontal; he was laying on the ground. He slowly pulled his body up and pivoted. He saw two strange things hanging freely below him. He peered down and saw that they were attached to him; instinctively, he realized they were his legs. They were a part of him. He felt other limbs in his physical form and held them up. They were his arms and hands. He looked down to memorize the rest of his form. And realized that he was naked, sitting on a smooth, white surface which, in turn, rose a few feet above the equally smooth floor. Instinctively, he knew that he was sitting on an altar.

"Where am I?"

His mind full of curiosity now, he looked around. He saw a white room bare apart from his lone altar. The boy hopped off his altar and his feet landed on the ground. To his minor shock the floor felt as cold as the altar. He looked up at the ceiling and saw panels of bright white fluorescent light. The ceiling was several foot high. Furthermore, he noticed that the ceiling took the shape of a dome.

His eyes roamed again as he carefully studied his surroundings. The lone altar was made of white marble, likewise the wall. It curved continuously and there was no exit that he could see.

Suddenly, music started playing. It was a cheery tune composed of wind instruments with the accompaniment of a piano. The music was clearly meant to convey the feeling of a brand new day.

"Welcome Emiya Shirou." A voice said. An old man with a disarming smile stood in front of him clad in khakis and a shirt hidden underneath a green sweater. Even though the boy was physically more intimidating than the old man, his presence was surprisingly greater. "You have been chosen to be reincarnated in this new world."

"What…? Who are you? Where am I?"

"I build with many hands. They are themselves, but they are also me. I am **all**-powerful. My only weapon is love. I am the 'One-Above-All'. But… you can call me Stan. And as for where you are, you are on Earth-199999…"

"Also known as, the Marvel Cinematic Universe."

* * *

**Prologue – The Everyman Superhero**

**PRESENT DAY. MANHATTAN, NEW YORK**

As per Nick Fury's wishes, paraphrased of course, it was time for a sheathed sword to draw itself.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it, he was currently predisposed at the moment. The Director certainly won't take that as a sufficient reason for him arriving behind schedule, but he was doing something _really_ important.

He was rescuing a cat from a tree.

. . .

Shirou Emiya was a man many would call distorted, though, to be fair, he knew not why he attributed that particular trait to himself, or why he presumed such notion. It wasn't something to be proud of yet he did just that, taking pride in what was undoubtedly an insult. He may not remember his past bar the bare minimum required to function and his brand of mage-craft, skills and experience, but little words, phrases or places tended to resonate with him. They likely had an impact on him in one way or the other in his former world. 'Distorted' was an example of such word. Same with the phrase, 'hero of justice'.

He felt, within him, that no other job would suffice save the one that led to him saving people.

It wasn't strange then that he had accepted a job with **S.H.I.E.L.D.** Though the organization was too clandestine for his liking, it offered him a route through which he could rescue as much people as he could without incurring the wrath of the government or being labelled a vigilante and hunted down. Plus, he doubted he could have rescued people for more than a month at least without gaining the interest of the organization. This way he was, more or less, saving time and resources they would use in locating and securing him. It wasn't to say he didn't help with the everyday problems when he wasn't out on a mission, like stolen wallet, attempt rape in dark alleys, or a simple cat stuck in the tree.

As the case may be at the moment.

He sighed as the cat – Prissy, he learnt her name was – meowed loudly, breaking him out of his thoughts. He looked down to the little girl at his side whose hands tugged insistently at his shirt. Even though he had already told her that he would in fact help her rescue her pet, she still urged him. As if fearing her cat would decide the world was too unfair for one such as her and take a plunge into the abyss. Though, with the way the cat was alternating between them and the ground, suicide was looking as the next action for the feline.

It seemed Prissy was a jumper.

The area surrounding the tree she was on was bare of any vegetative covering but sloped awkwardly and so, the fall would most likely result in her death. There won't be any right way for her to land even though the height wasn't much. Except, of course, if he interfered. And he would. Not only would it be hard to resist the dreaded puppy-eyes from the owner, his dream was to be a hero. And only villains ignored cats stuck on trees.

Shirou stared at the tree, debating for a second whether simply reinforcing his arm and punching the plant was a better option than climbing it. He could scale it but he didn't have much time until he had passed the realm of being 'fashionably late' for a meeting with the Director. If he was late, an action that was quickly becoming a norm for him, Nick Fury would surely blow a gasket. Moreover, it wouldn't do for him to garner undue attention that could be traced back to **S.H.I.E.L.D.** That may lead to the Director having an aneurysm. It wouldn't do for him, for the remainder of his life in this world, to be haunted down by an organization as powerful as **S.H.I.E.L.D. **due to an action he could have avoided.

He kicked off, the action displacing dirt from the ground, directly at the tall plant. His shoes slammed against its bark hauling his body upwards. He grabbed a branch, wounding his arms round it and pulled himself up. He made to dust his hands then thought better of it as he would be repeating the act several times in the next few minutes. He looked at the cat who had in the course of him getting atop the first branch had slunk closer to the edge of the trunk it was upon. Well, it looked like he needed to hurry then before Prissy unknowingly bust the feline myth.

As he climbed Shirou wondered why he was 'summoned'. And that was another word that never failed to get a reaction from him, a sort of yearning to be precise. For what, he didn't know and probably could never find out. Back to topic. While it wasn't rare, most of his missions were done through Nick Fury's mouthpiece, agent Coulson, and usually in a car or some shady, rundown warehouse. Being asked, or rather ordered as the case may be, to appear in the main **S.H.I.E.L.D. **HQ was really a point for consideration. And possibly meant the mission, whatever it was, was important. Like really important. Probably more important than rescuing a cat stuck on a tree.

His hand grasped a branch and he allowed a shocked gasp to escape his lips – for publicity case of course, wouldn't do to arouse any suspicion from the rapidly growing crowd – as it snapped under his weight. If he had been paying attention he would have been aware of the gradually thinning trunks. This far up only a few branches looked sturdy enough for use.

Luckily for him, in his stumbling he managed to grab a hold of a knot, skinning his palms for his efforts. If it wasn't for his stroke of luck he would have fallen, revealing his status as a meta-human as he would have emerged unharmed. Even now he could feel the torn skin re-knitting itself till it was good as new.

He ignored that train of thought, instead, continuing his upward journey. He was surprised, this time not feigned, to see the cat staring at him with an intensity that bordered on abnormal. Scratch that, it _was_ abnormal. The cat wasn't what it seemed. Shirou realized that what held Prissy's attention was his hand. The very same hand that had healed itself in the span of a few seconds. He concentrated his outwardly senses on the domesticated cat and was not shocked by what he found out.

The cat was an Eldritch being. Possibly a great one from the Eldritch Truth. Maybe. Maybe not. He couldn't really tell for sure but he was certain the cat was out-worldly.

He debated within whether to climb back down or continue with his rescue but one thought flashed through his mind.

_Since when has he had any iota of self-preservation_?

The answer was never, and he doubted he would start having one now so he continued onward. Before long he had reached the branch atop which the cat clung.

"Here kitty, kitty" Shirou said in a high-pitched, childlike tone. He had read somewhere that it was a must to reassure the cat before attempting a grab.

Slowly at first he crawled, quieting the sounds he made to not scare Prissy, before dashing in quick. He grabbed the animal by the scruff of her neck, like a mother cat does, her body going still once suspended. With one hand occupied, he scrambled down much slower than he had climbed, making sure no twigs touched the precious cargo he held.

He gave Prissy back to her owner and left in a haste, dodging the many on-lookers that circled the area. All through his journey, he couldn't help but feel something staring at his retreating form.

He shivered. That cat was 'cute but deadly' personified.

With one last glance at the little girl — he forgot to get her name — who waved at him until he was out of sight and the weirdly powerful cat-thing, he reinforced his legs and took off for the rooftops.

Nick Fury was not going to be happy.

* * *

**S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Sword**

* * *

**S.H.I.E.L.D.'S HQ, NEW YORK CITY**

**_Spider-man_**

_Real Name: Unknown_

_Current Alias: __Spider-man_

_Alias: Friendly Neighborhood Spider-man (self-made)_

_Alignment: Lawful Good_

_Relatives: Unknown_

_Affiliations: Tony Stark_

_Base of Operations: Unknown_

_**Status**_

_Identity: Unknown_

_Citizenship: Unknown _

_Marital Status: Unknown_

_Occupation: Vigilante, adventurer_

_Education: Unknown_

_**Characteristics**_

_Gender: Male_

_Eyes: Unknown_

_Hair: Unknown_

_**First appearance **_

_June 28, 2017_

_**Bio**_

_First came into prominence when he stole Captain America's shield in the battle at the airport. Most of his stats are unknown and any method of identification through the Stark database has been deemed impossible due to interference by __**FRIDAY.**__ It is suspected that Spider-man is affiliated, loosely, with Tony Stark and the Stark Industries though the nature of his association is unknown. _

_**Character**_

_Not much is deduced on the subject's traits, but data gotten from eye-witness accounts suggests civilians are able to relate with Spider-man on a personal level than most heroes can achieve. The results of a survey show he is more popular with teenagers due to his tendency to throw wisecracks during altercations. _

_**Powers and abilities**_

_A list of all proven and probable (suggested due to Spider-man's inherent similarities to the Arachnid from which he bore his name) abilities compiled from video feeds are as follow: _

_Superhuman Strength_

_Superhuman Speed_

_Superhuman Durability_

_Superhuman Agility_

_Superhuman Reflexes_

_Superhuman Stamina_

_Wall Crawling_

_Healing Factor_

_It is possible he possesses an inbuilt mechanoreceptor organ though it is unlikely. Full medical examination is required for further analysis._

_**Equipment**_

_Web-Shooters_

_**Weapons**_

_Spider-Man uses his Web Shooters as a non-lethal weapon._

Shirou sat staring at the Director blankly. The man couldn't be serious, yet one look at his unflinching face told the auburn-haired teen that he was indeed serious. He blinked before rubbing at his temple. "You want me to spy on a kid."

**S.H.I.E.L.D.** Director Nicholas J. Fury stood behind the desk in his office, dark eyes gazing out the glass wall, hands at his back in a distinct militaristic pose.

"He's an unknown. And I do not like unknowns." Nick Fury said before he turned on his spot to face the teen. "A kid literally pops up the face of the Earth and Stark has blocked all access to files related to him in any way. We are logged out from the Stark Industries' grid making a systematic check for correlated match-ups all but impossible. Stark's keeping secrets. Secrets I want to know."

Shirou glanced down at the file in his hands. He turned the page and examined a close-up, filtered picture of the hero. "It's hard to say for sure but I feel he's younger than 18 — possibly still a kid. Maybe Mr. Stark is being overprotective."

"'Overprotective' does not cut it. In our line of work, unknowns have a tendency to crop up later down the line with the urge to take over the world." Nick Fury tilted his head up slightly and raised his voice. "Computer show me Observer B." then turning to him, he added. "We have successfully narrowed our options down to these locations."

The wall behind Shirou shimmered to life displaying a list containing three names. It read: Midtown High, New York's Columbia University and Brooklyn Visions Academy. Beside the names were brief summaries including pictures of the buildings and little facts known about them.

"Out of them Midtown High seems the most likely. We were cut off before we could pinpoint the exact GPS coordinates, but we still managed to trace several calls made by one Happy Hogan, Stark's bodyguard, chauffeur and apparent close friend, to that location." The Director said.

"And what makes you think I want a part of this assignment?" Shirou turned back to face Nick Fury. "Isn't it better to not be part of whatever mess Mr. Stark's dragging the kid into?"

"Because we both know you wouldn't be able to sit idly when a kid could be in danger. For God's sake you came late to this debriefing 'cause you were rescuing a damned cat from a tree." He sighed as he regarded the teen. "In the end it isn't a matter of 'what I think' but rather, 'what I know'."

Shirou Emiya hesitated.

"Would you stay back at the off-chance that I have been spurting lies? Believe it or not, Emiya, I only have the best intentions for this kid, whoever he is."

Shirou glanced once more at the open file on his laps. He stared at the picture of the kid mid-swing, his arms outstretched in an odd sign and his legs folded a bit beneath him. Wasted motions. Like a chick on the first flight of its life. A super-powered individual he may be, yet within him Shirou was sure even without evidence, Spider-man was still a kid.

He sighed as he stood, his decision made. As there was a real chance of the kid being put in danger because of the mantle he had taken upon, his choice was so obvious this was all unnecessary. The Director was an asshole like that. He knew Shirou Emiya aspired to be a hero and so…

"I would take it." He sighed. "I will attend Midtown High and find out Spider-man's secret identity."

* * *

**Don't worry, this has just been in my head for a long while and I couldn't help publishing it. Every story of mine would be updated soon even 'Short Stories'. And Happy new year guys...**


	2. Chapter One

**Please inform me of any spelling errors. And Happy Valentines day, y'all.**

* * *

**S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Hero**

* * *

He entered the building, an old abandoned office block near the city's docks, aware of what he would find inside. Six humans and his target. The man had to be kept alive, everyone else was expendable. They were mercenaries, no one he needed to feel sorry for. They had been paid to work for a monster like Dr. Octopus. They'd witnessed the atrocities carried out by his hand. They deserved their fate.

The lives of many outweighs the lives of a few. Especially when those few were irredeemable. Shirou Emiya had made peace with this path a long time ago.

He opened the door and faced the first of the humans. Shock crossed his face before Shirou slammed his fist into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. He spun to face a second man who had stood behind the door when he'd opened it. A quick elbow to the jaw snapped his head to the side before he could reach for the gun in his hip holster. Shirou took advantage, stepping behind and breaking his neck, dropping him to the floor.

The sound of impact brought a third mercenary out from a nearby room, pistol at the ready. He was dead before he had a chance to fire a single shot. The contents of his head decorated the beige wall behind him, a gun embedded in it.

The mercenaries wore body armor, Kevlar, over normal street clothes, but nothing to protect their heads. It was an oversight they wouldn't live to regret. Their visitor wasn't the naive web-crawler. With three down, that left only three to remove from this world before tracking down Dr. Octopus. A man, he was sure, would still be pouring over his notes uncaring for the many that dies protecting him.

Shirou continued through the non-descript building, checking all of the offices along the lengthy corridor and finding nothing but rats and spiders.

After a few minutes of the repeated action, he stopped outside a large grey door. He perceived a slight noise from inside. It had been quick and soft, but nevertheless, required searching. The noise from the altercation ensured that the remaining mercenaries would now be prepared. That didn't mean they stood a chance, but it didn't mean he had to be stupid either.

With his hands held out in front, he reached deep within and let his walls down.

It was like opening a furnace door. Heat flared in his chest and roared through his veins like a spark following a fuse. He didn't have to tell his powers where to go, it always knew. His body buzzed like a live wire as currents of energy raced along his nerve endings toward his hands. It was released in a controlled stream, pooling in the palm of his hands until it gave off a pale blue glow. Hotter and hotter the fire burned until he felt like he grasped hot metal pipes. He bit his lip to keep from crying out and held on, waiting for the power to grow to the right intensity before releasing it.

Power exploded from his hands in the form of a brilliant light. When it faded, it revealed two pair of swords, married blades, resting languidly in his grasp.

A memento of the life he had.

Shirou walked a few feet to his left, then twisted sharply on his heel, his other leg outstretched. Brick and plaster dust exploded around him. He stepped through the hole, ducked beneath a punch and slammed his elbow into the man's ribs. He snapped Kanshou up, catching him under the jaw. He heard the mercenary fall, but didn't see it as he stepped aside and continued the momentum of the turn, whipping Bakuya to catch the second mercenary across the throat as he rushed him.

The room was about twenty-foot square, and consisted of nothing but two dead men and a group of sockets that had been pulled from the wall. Bare wires spilled from the holes the damaged had created. There was another grey door opposite him. He made to move toward it, but had to dive to the side as it was ripped apart in a hail of gunfire. Shirou kept low and made his way to the wall. Some of the bullets had punctured through, giving him a good view of the room beyond.

The last mercenary stood about five feet inside the room, the gun trained on the door, ready. As if sensing movements, or more likely, having seen a flicker as a result of his movement, the man turned. The gun clacked and more bullets hit the exact part of the wall where he'd been sitting, but he was already on the move, kicking the door open. A sickening crunch sounded as he buried the blade in the top of the man's head. The momentum and power behind the blow brought Bakuya to a rest just below his eyes, splitting the top of his head in two.

The gun clattered to the floor, followed soon after by its user. The first mercenary he had struck with his sword, clearly not as dead as he'd thought, took the opportunity to barrel into him from behind, slamming him to the ground. He managed to twist in the man's grip as they crashed onto the floor. Stone dust covered everything, making visibility minimal. The mercenary's massive frame pinned him to the floor, with one of his arms pinned beneath Shirou's.

_If he wants it free,_ Shirou thought, _he has to let me move, and that isn't on his list of options._

He reinforced his chest in time to deflect a swipe at his chest, the blade, nevertheless, shredding his tunic, exposing the tan marks on his skin. The man took another swipe – this time, he had to avoid the skewering of his eyes by moving his head as much as the position allowed.

Shirou reached up into the dust cloud and grabbed the mercenary's throat. It was slippery and warm as blood continued to spill from his face where Kanshou had cut. Placing his hand adjacent to the man's throat, he projected a simple, nameless blade. A pulse of thick, heavy light appeared into his neck before revealing the weapon, immediately decapitating it.

Shirou released the blade, stood up, and moved around them into what amounted to a large storage room. Several windows sat on one side, each of them big enough for a grown man to get through. Not that the doctor even tried.

The man was hunched over a laptop, his hands skimming over the keyboard, inputting several commands that flew over his head. Shirou was a weapon; the only thing required of him was fighting. Unfortunately, that meant anything computer-related was out of the question.

Without turning or giving any notice on his arrival, the Doctor said, a little presumptuous. "I would have loved to get to know you better, but… ah, I feel our little date would be interrupted… right about now…"

And as if summoned by his words, the window glass fractured as a familiar blue and red-suited hero swung through, landing on the wall in a remarkable spider-like pose.

"What's up doc?... and oh, how I love what you've done with the place. It perfectly captures your mental state."

Sighing, Shirou silently escaped the room. It wouldn't do for his mission target to see his face in this sort of place and mistake him for a "bad guy". Or for his cover to be blown this early into the mission.

Either way, the Director would not be pleased with his failure at apprehending the ever elusive Doctor.

* * *

**Chapter One - First Day of School**

* * *

"Attention students!" a loud voice called over the gathered crowd.

Shirou, due to his tall and imposing physique, had no problem seeing the speaker from where he stood.

"This day is your first amongst many, here at the Academy. We, the staff, would like to welcome you to our school, Mid-Town High. As you are all new to the grounds, today is yours to get accustomed and settled in. Be prepared, though, for tomorrow classes begin in full."

He shook his head as he subtly scanned through the sea of bored students, shifting the weight of his backpack from one shoulder to the other. Following the instructions he had received upon acceptance, he took his first look inside the High School.

The hall was wide and open with lockers, standard and well maintained, lined up on the sides against the wall. Here and there, someone had placed a piece of educational quotes on the wall or some other décor. None of it was near embellished as he'd expected, but nevertheless, it had its own appeal.

The instructions had his locker location on it and a list of his classes. The students walking around, for the most part, appeared to be excited and visited with each other quite loudly. The constant buzzing of voices was beginning to make his head pound when he found his locker. Like stated earlier, it was a standard, well maintained locker. Simple, fair-sized, and divided into two compartments. Not seeing the need in lugging his sack around, he threw it into the locker and sealed it. Not having much else left to do, he started exploring.

He studied the list of classes and their locations, using the day to get accustomed to the school's layout so he won't get lost.

The classrooms were mostly the same, with large windows and an adequate ventilation system. Though currently empty, they had nearly thirty seats for students and one for the professor at the front of the room. Considering how many rooms he saw while wondering the halls, it was a bit overwhelming to think of the large number of people.

Thankfully, most of his classes where in the same area, so it didn't take long to locate them all. After making sure he could find them again, he chose a random direction and started exploring. Everywhere he went, crowds of students were gathered talking and laughing. Though some, like himself, were solely trying to get acquainted with the grounds.

His stomach rumbled its need for nourishment, and with a barely perceptible sigh, he turned on his heels. It seemed the little meal he was able to prepare in the morning could not satiate his hunger.

As Shirou walked to the lunchroom, he noticed the majority of the student body watching him as he passed by. His attire couldn't possibly be the object of their attention as in other to fit in with his peers, S.H.I.E.L.D. had procured him the "latest" and "in-style" – as they say – clothing and accessories. Nor could it be his physical appearance. While he was above average in terms of looks, he knew it wasn't the reason for their stares. This was no anime.

It was a bit unnerving to be the center of attention, more so when he knew not the cause. He did his best to ignore them and focus his thoughts on lunch.

The cafeteria was a large area with rows of tables neatly aligned. At the far end was where the food line began, and he made his way there. Grabbing a tray from the counter, he watched as the helpers then heaped food onto it. After receiving his portion, he sat down at the table nearest to the door.

To his dismay, the stares hadn't receded. Rather, it had magnified. Intermixed among the mutterings were rapid hand movements and gesturing.

_Ah, a rumor then._ About what? He didn't know.

Despite the less than ideal atmosphere, he was wholly focused on his plate, finishing the rest of his meal without once looking elsewhere.

* * *

_LOCAL HERO SAVES CAT STUCK ON TREE_

_Boy hero rescues Mayor Beame's prized pet, Squishy-paws, according to inspired onlookers._

Shirou tore his eyes away from the newspaper clipping, instantly recognizing it as the reason for the undue attention he had garnered. While recuing a cat was not an admittedly hard thing to do, the way and manner his exploits were embellished on the paper made it out to be bigger than it actually was.

When the media claimed the local hero who saved a cat was to be trusted more than those heroes that risks their lives against world-ending threat, people tended to react. Especially when, J. J. Jameson endorsed his action, pitting it against the famous, or infamous as the editor-in-chief would rant, web-crawler's.

And what better way can teenagers, especially in this modern age, react other than pointing and whispering. _The rumor-mill must be having a field day_, he thought, weary.

"Excuse me, are you done reading it?"

His gaze lifted up to the one who had showed him the clipping. She stood just a bit shorter than him, with a bright red ribbon adorning her wavy brown hair. The ribbon was clearly meant to match the outfit she wore.

"Yes, I am done." Shirou scratched the top of his head, unsure of how or why he should continue the train of conversation. He decided to go with the most popular route. "Thank you." He bowed slightly and made to excuse himself when she responded.

"I didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't give it." The reply was quick and apparently hurtful, evident by her crestfallen expression. He sighed. It wouldn't do ostracize himself from his schoolmates. "It's Shirou… Emiya Shirou."

She smiled at him. "I am Elizabeth Allan, but my friends call me Liz." The unspoken words rang clear and he gave a nod in acknowledgement. Only time would tell if they reached that level of relationship. "Later then."

With a short wave she proceeded back the way he had come, the extract bundled up in her little purse. As he would get no answers for the questions swimming in his mind concerning his recent exposure, he put the thoughts aside and continued on his way.

The library was not far off from being a place that would quickly become his preferred hang-out. He was only transported to this world with the bare necessities, of which include his identity, abilities, and life mission. Any supplementary information, if needed, could be gotten through mediums such as interactions with other humans or books. The later was preferably to the former.

The only interaction a sword has with a human is fueled with the intent to cause harm. Usually accompanied with the loss of an extremity.

Mid-Town High's library, while not the largest in the city, was still very much vast. A veritable well of knowledge from which he could glean the histories of this world. Not one for mindless chatter, he would rather spend the rest of the first day engrossed in the bound texts.

He grabbed a book about the origin of a common yet easily treated disease and sat down at a small table with nobody near. Time elapsed as he poured over its contents. It slowly became apparent that the book did not have any substantial information. Sighing once again, he shut the book, already thinking of the next one to delve into.

"Ah, yes, for all the words in that book. It contains surprisingly little knowledge."

Shirou jumped, startled at the sudden voice behind him. He turned to see a man standing quite close and looking over his shoulder. A man with a presence that contradicted his appearance.

He was an old man, much older than Nick Fury, and a skinny one at that. His hair was mostly white with a few dark and grey streaks. As he stood, Shirou also noticed that he was about the same height as him, the difference being no more than a few fingers width.

_How did I not hear his approach?_

Stroking his chin, the old man thought for a moment. He then went to a nearby shelf and trailed his finger across a few books before finally taking one down.

"Here it is. This will be much more insightful than that one. And, ah… potentially useful."

He laid the book down on the table and started walking away, no other words exchanged nor needed, it seemed. Not knowing how to respond to his quick retreat, he merely watched the old man go.

Once he was gone, Shirou glanced down at the volume he had received off the shelves. _Remedies – The Many Uses. _The book's topic, though he had no interest in Medicine as a subject, appealed to him for reasons unknown. He scanned the first few pages and realized that the old man was perhaps on to something. Curious now, he wondered about the strange yet helpful old man, with a familiar presence.

Shaking off all other thoughts, he began to read the book. Stopping only once when a boy, a year or two younger, bumped into his table in a scene of utter clumsiness.

_Imagine if that guy was Spider-man? _Shirou chuckled to himself. _Utterly..._

* * *

**For a while I didn't know the direction to take the story. But I do now. All characters mentioned, by name or not, will play vital roles in the story. The next chapter will also introduce important characters.**

**Don't forget to review your thoughts, follow and favorite this story. Also, check out my other stories.**


	3. Chapter Two

**Any spelling and/or grammatical errors, if found, report it to me in the review section. I repeat, report it to me in the review section. But all jokes aside, I am just a man and so might miss some errors. Please inform me so I may fix it.**

* * *

**S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Sword**

* * *

"…Impossible."

Nick Fury scowled from behind his desk, arm folded and placed on the wooden structure. An intimidating sight, yet Shirou neither took note of it nor displayed any outward sign of being cowed.

"Not really." He shrugged at the questioning glare. "The main point of a secret identity is one so far removed from the person's actual identity. And really who would expect the outgoing web-slinger to be an awkward wallflower without the mask."

"From what you're inferring, you think Spiderman is this…" The Director glanced down at the file in front of him, a picture with detailed information regarding the teen in question displayed. "Peter Parker."

"I may be wrong. But you have to admit, Mr. Stark's interest in him is quite suspicious—"

"That could be because of the kid's genius level IQ."

"Maybe…" Shirou shook his head. "To be fair, I am basing my assumption on the belief that a superhero's alter-ego, in this case, Spider-man's, would have to be one that none can suspect. Or at least second-guess even if proven."

Nick Fury sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

"Regardless of the outcome of this investigation, Peter Parker is to remain a person of interest. If need be, his connection to Stark can be exploited."

Shirou's hands came down to pick up the folder sent his way, quickly scanning through it. He directed a questioning glance at the Director.

"Despite your recent failure, you have another mission."

Shirou nodded. Turning on his heels, he made his way out of the office, Nick Fury's last words reverberating within the room.

"And, word of advice, Emiya: Don't fuck it up."

He won't.

* * *

**Chapter Two – A Tale of Greed**

* * *

Shirou spent the next few days pouring over building blueprints alongside the previous few months' time-sheets for everyone who worked there.

Patterns formed pretty quickly. Every Thursday and Friday his target worked from midday to midnight. The majority of the staff left between five and six, with a few stragglers going up to nine or ten. But for the last few hours the entire population of the building consisted of half a dozen cleaners and Dr. Richard M. Welk.

The big problem would be acquiring the laptop without the Doctor knowing or trying to stop him. With too many things that could change during the operation, he decided it would be best to come up with a plan on the fly for getting the computer.

Ingenuity was never his forte.

All he knew was that he wasn't going to take it by force. While he could use it if needed, he always thought it sloppy and unprofessional to hurt people just to make one's life easier. Especially when the target was just a civilian.

The day before the mission was due to take place, he had caught a train to 5 Avenue Station, Manhattan. He'd called on the way to book a hotel room near SquidCo, where the scientist worked.

Moving out of the subway at Fifth Avenue, Shirou walked to a road bench and sat down, gently unwrapping his meal pack. Fresh bread and strong cheese, grilled. The bread was just as he liked it, slightly over baked, the crust dark and crisp, the center soft and full of flavor. Tearing off a chunk, he chewed slowly, trying to ignore the sounds of the hustle and bustle of the city. The cheese was disappointing. There was no tang to the flavor. Good cheese would cause the tongue to cleave to the roof of the mouth and the eyes to water.

Despite that, he finished his meal. Standing up he dusted the crumbs off his sweats. A cold wind blew through the area and Shirou was glad he'd worn a thick hooded top, as well as a black jacket that covered down to his thighs. It wasn't exactly executive dress. But even amongst the throngs of people all wearing expensive suits and coats, he didn't stand out too badly, mostly, thanks to the nearby shopping center which was always busy with families and people off work for the day.

In front of him loomed The Langham, a high mass of glass and metal, intricately designed. It may not be the tallest building in New York, but it never ceased to amaze, especially at night, when the lights from the buildings illuminates everything around them.

He walked into the lobby of the hotel. After getting his room's card key, and making a point of stating he would carry his own bag, he made his way up in the lift.

His room was everything he'd paid for and more. It was massive, with an enormous king-size bed, large bathroom and lounge area with a flat screen TV. A balcony overlooked the nearby park, and the huge windows spread down one side of the room turned a nice view into an unforgettable one.

A pity he wasn't here to relax.

His backpack contained his outfit for the mission, so he hid it under the bed. He would rather not have some random cleaner finding it and discovering dark clothes and a balaclava. When ready, Shirou left the hotel, making his way toward the forty-two-story monstrosity containing his target.

Richard Welk was middle-aged, and while not a renowned Genetist and scientist was brilliant enough to create a clone as a special genetic engineering program for SquidCo to enable the turn registered trademark in living, breathing entity. His creation, for some reason christened Mister Fizzi, caught the interest of S.H.I.E.L.D.

After taking a seat on a bench outside the massive structure, he removed a book from his backpack and feigned reading as he watched through the windows surrounding the entire first floor. He made mental notes of the number of watchmen inside. He was going to bring a note pad and pen, but that would have been far too obvious. The watchmen moved in twos. Four pairs in all, each carrying a submachine gun and a holstered pistol. Employees and visitors moved around them with little fuss or concern, apparently accustomed to their armed protectors.

Two women sat behind a large reception desk opposite the three massive turnstile doors, and across an expansive lobby. They were probably mild-mannered receptionists, but they appeared more akin to someone one would meet in the dead of night with a large knife.

Pieces of artwork – ranging from abstract paintings to exotic decors, adorned the cream colored wall. And the company's logo, a purple squid enclosed in a circle with written words in it, had been painted onto the white tiled floor directly in front of the reception area.

After a few minutes of covertly scanning the building and its inhabitants, it became apparent that the bruiser-like receptionists had taken to watching him a little more intently than he would have liked.

Shirou glanced around, as if looking for someone he was waiting for, and spotted a beautiful, curly-haired redhead nearby. She wore a dark trouser suit and tiny-rimmed glasses on her button nose. He'd noticed her watching him with interest and wondered whether someone had sent her to keep an eye on him.

He put his book away, keeping one eye on the receptionists who had called over one of the watchmen, and waved at the redhead. She looked confused for a moment, but tentatively waved back.

He walked over and offered his hand, a tentative smile on his face. After a brief pause she shook it. "My name's Shirou."

"Natalie," she replied. "I was going to come over and say hi."

"I thought I'd beat you to it." He hoped that despite his deplorable communication skills, their conversation would make it look like he'd been waiting for her and not trying to scope out the building. And his aforementioned difficulty in communicating would be mistaken at shyness in meeting the stunning redhead.

Natalie's smile lit up her face. Her green eyes sparkled. "I was just finishing work for the day and wanted to ask if you'd like to join me for lunch. I was building up the nerve."

_Ah…_ Shirou relaxed. _Someone as inept at talking like him_.

"I was just about to suggest the same thing."

She laughed. "Okay, well a date it is. In the past six months my dating experience has been limited to men who could barely read their own name. You were sitting there reading alone and looking… well, looking like someone I'd like to meet."

One of the watchmen began to walk towards them. He motioned for Natalie to lead the way. "We best be on our way, then?" The watchmen lost interest in him and wandered back over to his colleague.

He'd wanted to get inside and look around a little, but that was impossible. Besides, he'd already figured out _exactly_ how he was going to get inside.

He looked at Natalie as they walked together, and wondered if he was being set up. And if so, why? No one knew about him, Nick Fury assured him of that. So what was her game? Whatever it was, he was confident in his ability to survive it.

In the back of his mind, he figured it was possible that she was the help assigned to him. But if she was, what was the need for the farce.

. . .

"I know this little Italian place," Natalie said as they walked through the increasingly crowded financial Mecca. "It's a bit out of the way, so it shouldn't be full of people talking about nothing but work."

"Lead the way," Shirou simply said.

They reached the restaurant shortly after. Like Natalie had said, it was nowhere near as busy as the rest of Fifth Avenue. Unconsciously, he moved to open the door and they both entered the warm restaurant. The smell of tomatoes and spices wafted out of the kitchen, making him hungry. A young woman seated them in a booth, and Natalie removed her jacket, showing the black blouse she was wearing. The waitress placed menus in front of them and, after taking their drinking order, left them alone to look over what they wanted to eat.

"So, what do you do, Shirou?" Natalie asked as she fidgeted with her napkin.

He'd been thinking about his answer to that specific question since they'd left SquidCo and had decided to stick with the truth. "I'm still a student." Misdirection and subterfuge were another skill he was incapable of using.

"A student?" The slight _oh crap_ in her voice was easy to hear. She looked around the setting, her eyes darting between each patron nervously.

He sought to allay her fears. "I am legally emancipated, and I am a student due to the nature of my situation. Part of the requirements for my inheritance was for me to attend school, at least for a year." The origin story that the Director had spun in case of this sort of situation held up in the face of scrutiny as her posture relaxed. The thoughts of the repercussions she will face for dating – though to be fair, he was frequently mistaken as an adult due to the mature features he possesses, even at school, by the Staff and students alike – a minor must have severely spooked her.

"That's a lot better than, 'I'm a student'." She finished her coke and ordered another. "Any hobbies or eccentricity you are willing to share?

"A few. Though, I admit that out of all my hobbies, my favorite would have to be reading, regardless of the subject matter of the book."

"A bookworm, then."

"More of a bibliophile, if I'm to be honest. You should see my library."

She gave him a searching look and he immediately realized the hidden meaning of the words that had slipped out. He scratched the back of his neck, a tell-tale sign of his embarrassment. One she was able to notice.

"What is your favorite book?" Natalie said, smiling, apparently grasping and understanding the depth of his ineptness when it comes to communication. For that he was thankful, and the respect he had for had had gone up.

"My favorite, huh? There was a book I read about magic and a hidden society filled with people that could wield the mystic power. _Harry Potter_, I believe it was called. For some reason, I am drawn to the concept of the story and a specific character, Neville Longbottom."

Natalie leaned from her seat, eyes wide in fascination as she stared at him, engrossed by his words. For a moment, he was captivated by her beauty, before he clamped down on that feeling with steel. His heart belonged to another. Even though he may not remember her name nor face, he knew without a doubt, in his heart, that he was already taken.

"Why?" the word came out like a whisper, her pale lips slightly open.

"For a long time he was a failure at magic, disregarded by all, even the professors as incompetent. But when needed, he showed true bravery by slaying the remaining tether the Dark Lord had to the land of the living. For some reasons, I have always sympathized with failures."

The phrase, third-rate magus, came to mind, unbidden.

"I have heard of the book." Natalie looked sheepish. "Never did read it. Thought it was a bit…"

"Childish? Yeah, I guess in way it was. The 'love being the strongest weapon' trope was a bit dramatic."

Natalie laughed, placing her hand over her mouth. "I didn't want to offend you by saying what I thought of it."

"It's pretty hard to offend me. And, it's not like I expect everyone I meet to share my opinions."

"When I was little I wanted to be an actress."

"What stopped you?"

"I was terrible at it, mostly," she said causing them both to laugh. "So I went to uni and now I'm a secretary for an overpaid scientist. Not exactly glamorous."

He arched an eyebrow at her, as if indicating her rather glamorous appearance.

"Thank you," she said with a slight grin. "You have to dress well around here, no matter how much your wages may groan under the idea."

They chatted about her university days, where she studied history. They even got onto the topic of her family for a while. One brother and sister, both older, both more successful, both assholes. He – surprisingly – always managed to deflect questions she asked him back onto her. He wanted her to feel comfortable. They continued to talk as they ate, he had spaghetti and meatballs and Natalie an Italian ham pizza.

As time passed, his original concern that he was being set up had begun to evaporate. If SquidCo did know about him, he wouldn't have thought they'd have set him up on a date. The same went for his assigned teammate. He'd have expected more guns, and some torture. Besides she gave far too much information about herself and her job. Even so, that left him with a startling opportunity to glean some information about Richard Welk. "What do they actually do in that place, anyway?"

"Invention of trademarks for the most part. The top fifteen floors are totally off limits to anyone who isn't high on the corporate ladder or working on an important invention. They even have their own lifts and stairwells, just in case us plebs get nosey."

Wow… "Segregation in the work place?"

"Tell me about it! There's also a basement lab, which is even more off limits."

"I know a guy who works there, Richard Welk." he appeared to ponder this for a moment. "At least I think he works there."

"Doctor Welk, I know him. He's one of the nice ones. Always says hello. You should have mentioned earlier; I'd have called up to him."

"I only just remembered to be honest, when you said about scientists."

Shirou doubted that after he'd stolen the Doctor's laptop he would be in the mood to say anything to him.

They chatted for a few more hours, until the staff began making hints that they couldn't stay since offices were emptying for the day and it was starting to become busy. He paid for the meal and they left the restaurant, the sunset casting the sky in a brilliant orange and red. "You know it's only five," Natalie said.

As much as he would have liked to take her back to his room in the hotel, his heart clenched at the thought so he simply pretended to not understand the hidden meaning.

The unknown girl of his past better be worth it.

* * *

**S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Sword**

* * *

Shirou poured over the SquidCo building blueprints and cemented the strategy for his entrance. And more importantly, his exit.

One of the buildings next to SquidCo was twenty stories high and lacked the security of its big brother. There was a second building on the opposite side, which one could actually use to look into the office of his target, but it was also over six hundred feet away. He has been considered many things. Bat shit crazy isn't one of them. Which is why, after he'd gotten dressed in dark combats, boots and hoodie, he found himself on the smaller building's roof at just after ten pm. He stood at the edge and looked down onto the streets below.

Five floors beneath him, thirty feet away, and across a gaping twenty stories deep chasm, lay his entrance into the SquidCo building. It was a small balcony with a door. They'd been put in every ten floors, presumably as some sort of smoking area.

There's no way a human could jump it. Not without leaving a very big red stain on the concrete pathway far below. Not even him would be able to survive a fall from such a height if he made a mistake. Get it wrong, and he'd be that big red stain.

Once his rucksack was secured properly, he backed up to the opposite side of the roof and positioned himself against a large air conditioning unit. A second was all he needed to mentally prepare himself for what he was about to do. He breathed out slowly and reinforced his body, improving upon the physical capabilities of his body to a superhuman level.

He shoved himself off with everything he had, sprinting the fifty feet across the flat roof, moving in a way that belies his strength.

Shirou planted his foot just below the roof edge and pushed off.

He hit the balcony with a resounding thud and rolled across the floor to lessen the impact as the smell of stale cigarette smoke hit his nose. He came to a stop against the cool glass door and stared up at the roof he'd just left. He could swear he had seen something move in his peripheral as he jumped.

He set about letting himself into the building. There was no need to conceal that he'd been here – Richard Welk was going to realize that someone had stolen his laptop. Unless he was an idiot. But he doubted that would be the case. He slammed his foot against the glass, and stepped inside, acutely aware of any sounds that might indicate someone nearby.

Hearing none, he continued through the building to the lifts. Getting into one of them was out of the question. There were enough cleaners and security staff inside the building to notice if one started to move when it wasn't meant to.

But that didn't mean the lifts were a total no-go area.

The darkness inside the building was occasionally broken with wall lights, creating an eerie atmosphere. Shadows crisscrossed over one another, trying to claw back the darkness from the low level lights.

The lift doors were surrounded by ornate bronze work. He took a few seconds to study the artwork. It really was quite beautiful. Dozens of figures carved into the bronze, most in full ancient armor, stood in front of their boats, waiting for whatever war the artist was depicting.

He placed his hand close to the steel of the lift doors and noticed something in the carvings. On the opposite side of the waiting warriors was a huge walled city. Men stood on the ramparts, staring down at those before them. Suddenly he realized that it was a depiction of the battle of Troy, or at least the beginning of it.

He forced the heavy lift door apart, and while stuck in that position, peered into the darkness beyond. Though reinforcement did not grant him night-vision, he could still see, to some extent, in the dark. He was able to make out the lift itself a few floors below, idly waiting for its next journey.

He took a moment to take out his gloves and wore them. Then he pulled the balaclava down over his face. The blueprints showed no internal cameras but he didn't want to accidentally walk into a cleaner and have his face plastered all over the news in the morning.

The Director would suffer from an aneurysm.

A quick jump later and Shirou found himself holding onto the thick lift cable. Once he'd wrapped his feet around the cable and made sure his grip was iron tight, he began his twenty-two-floor climb.

There was no way of telling how long it took, he wasn't about to wait for a second and take a look at his watch, but it felt like years. By the time he'd reached the top of the lift shaft the effects of Reinforcement had worn off and his arms and shoulders ached. There was also another problem – the lift doors were closed. Jumping over to them would have left him with about an inch to grab hold of. An inch between life and death wasn't big enough for him to take the risk.

Shirou wrapped one arm around the cable and stretched out his free hand, palm facing the door.

"Trace…"

The gun, a spatial representation of the actualization of blades in his reality marble, was loaded, the hammer cocked.

"…on."

With that one word, numerous blades, some named, most un-named, materialized into the real world. All fixated on the door.

With a slight shift of hand, the projectiles exploded into motion, slamming into the door. It may have alerted every person with working ears within the vicinity, but it was the quickest way.

Once the doors were practically non-existent, he moved around slightly so that his back faced the wide open space where the lift doors were. He pulled his feet up, planted them on the cable and launched himself back, twisting in mid-flight and landing beyond the lift doors. He hit the thinly carpeted floor hard, but rolled, the backpack taking the brunt of the blow.

He remained motionless for a moment and listened for any signs of approaching life. It was soon apparent that he was alone. The information he'd gleaned from the file stated that the cleaners didn't normally get to the thirties until after midnight, and it was only a quarter past eleven. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

The information had also told him that level thirty-two was as high as he could go. The next few flights would have to be done in the private lift or stairwell, both of which were armed with alarms, and wouldn't open without a key-card. So no climbing up lift cables, which wasn't the worst news in the world.

The plan was to disable the stairwell lock and use the stairs to gain entry to the restricted floors.

Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on the stairwell being guarded too. Which on hindsight seemed like a stupid mistake to make. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.

Shirou peered around a corner and watched one giant of a man sat directly in front of the door some thirty feet away, a book in his hands and a stun gun at his waist. That was definitely not in the dossier from Nick Fury.

For the life of him, he couldn't figure out how he hadn't heard him, and then Shirou noticed that he was wearing headphones. The man started tapping his foot to whatever beat he was listening to as he read his book. Listening to music probably wasn't one of his usual duties, but he was glad the man had, otherwise that stun gun would probably have been pointed at the teen.

Shirou ducked back round and wondered how he was going to creep past the watchmen. There was a good chance he would be noticed from a few inches away, even if the man was listening to music. Unless he was blind, and then he'd be sort of useless as a security guard.

The man was an innocent, one whose means of livelihood was to guard an entrance. He did not commit a crime by being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Shirou was not heartless enough to snuff a life just to make a mission easier. So with that in mind, he slowly turned the corner and walked towards the man.

It didn't take long until he was seen.

It also wasn't long until a stun gun was placed dangerously close to his temple.

A shift of his elbow. A minute rotation of his body. And an elbow to the nose.

Shirou sighed. Though it was the least damaging way he knew of downing the watchmen, it still didn't lessen the sour taste that filled his mouth.

He walked to the prone man and stole his card key from his belt. "Sorry," he whispered.

After using the key card to unlock the door, he dropped it onto the floor. It mattered not where he drops it as the man, once awake, would hurriedly raise the alarm.

The stairwell had an oak banister, behind which, more carvings depicted warriors from different times – Greek warriors, Roman Legionnaires and even a few English War Bowmen, sat on the wall. If he had the time, he would have studied them closely. Unfortunately, he was in a hurry and was forced to leave the pieces of history alone.

Shirou tore his gaze away from the splendor surrounding him and jogged up the next few fights of marble stairs, stopping outside the entrance to the floor he needed.

The door pushed open without incident. No one was hiding behind it waiting to apprehend him in the act, so he stepped through and into a brightly lit corridor. Glass windows faced him, allowing him a peek into dark offices as he made his way along the floor to find his destination.

Mr. Welk's office was, while not the largest on the floor, was two or three times bigger than most of the others. According to the blueprints he had his own private bathroom, too. The greater one's worth to the company, the higher up the pecking order he/she was and the less they would have to mix with those beneath them.

Shirou crept along until he reached the closed door. Mr. Welk's name was painted onto the dark wood in a golden font. Instead of having glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling down the length of the wall, Mr. Welk's office windows stopped at about chest height, giving him a measure of privacy. At least his employers thought highly of him. Not sure the same would be said tomorrow.

His blinds were closed, which made getting close to the office a lot easier than it would have been otherwise. Shirou sat next to the door and was about to fish out a snake camera from his bag, when part of the door exploded above his head showering him in wooden shrapnel. He dove aside, ears ringing like bells, and glanced through the jagged hole now in the door. It was about a foot above where his head had been.

"You're not going to kill me." Was the first thing he heard from the Doctor once his ears stopped sounding like a marching band was playing in them.

"I wasn't planning on killing anyone," Shirou shouted back as another round ripped more of the door apart, putting a hole at what would have been his stomach height.

"Don't lie! You're here to kill me and take my life's work. Well, you can't have Mr. Fizzi" He ejected a shotgun shell, instantly loading another.

He placed his open hands in front of the door, showing Mr. Welk that he wasn't armed. "Wait! I have no interest in the spokesclone."

He really didn't. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interest laid in the process of creation rather than the finished good.

Moving slightly had let him peer through the door and into the office, where Richard Welk stood, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Just put the gun down," Shirou said. "We can talk about this." He wasn't about to inform the man that the gun wouldn't be able to stop him if he was actually out for blood.

Shirou pushed the shredded door a little. The response was immediate. "Stay there," Richard Welk screamed and fired at the door once more. "Try that again and you'll look the like the doorframe with my next round."

The wood resembled Swiss cheese. It was quite surprising that it was still upright.

He glanced through the closest hole, getting a good view of the obviously agitated Mr. Welk in the process. The shotgun was still pointed at the door. His arms were beginning to wobble and sweat creased his forehead.

"You going to let me talk to you?" Shirou asked.

His answer was to load another cartridge.

"Your choice." A projected blade, small and nondescript, was thrown through the hole. It moved with speed, until it struck the fingers that pulled at the trigger of the shotgun. Mr. Welk dropped the weapon in panic, which gave him the opening he needed to dive through the remainder of the door and fling another blade in his direction. It caught the scientist square in the chest, driving him into the far wall with enough force to hopefully knock the fight out of him.

Shirou picked up the shotgun. "We done now?"

Mr. Welk slowly made his way to an upright position. "You won't find him," he said defiantly.

"I'm here to steal a laptop, your laptop to be precise. No business with your clone." He emptied the shotgun and tossed the cartridges into a waste paper bin next to a large wooden desk, dropping the empty shotgun onto the desk. "How'd you know I was outside your door?"

The man pointed to the carpet outside the office. "Pressure plates, I activate them when everyone's gone home."

That was rather impressive... and oddly paranoid. Was the man expecting an assassination attempt?

"Please just hand your laptop over. I have a busy day tomorrow, and so, I need to retire early."

"What laptop?"

Alarm bells couldn't have begun ringing any quicker if they'd tried. "Your laptop, you know, the electronic device that contains the blueprints of your spokesclone."

"What the fuck?"

Now the alarm bells were going haywire. "Don't you have a soft-copy of the blueprints. You couldn't possibly have opted for a hard-copy version when it's security could be easily guaranteed using an electronic device."

"I am not stupid. The blueprints were indeed saved on my laptop, but I had to dispose of it because the trademark project was to be scrubbed."

"That never came up in the file. I'm afraid you've been given a wrong information." Or been set up. "Who do you think is after you?"

"I don't know! And even if I did, why would I tell you? You're a thief. A thief who's currently still wearing a balaclava. How do you expect me to trust you?"

He had a point, and if he was being set up then unknowingly, Shirou was being pulled along into the trap. He was definitely expecting trouble. The teen pulled off his balaclava and tossed it onto the desk. The expression that crossed Mr. Welk's face wasn't good. "What?"

"You're far younger than I expected."

That was a first. Usually, it was the opposite he heard.

Shirou shrugged at the man.

Mr. Welk walked over to his desk and opened a drawer, removing a cigarette and lighting it up. He exhaled a moment later and Shirou expected the sprinklers to go off. "I disabled them years ago," he said, anticipating his thoughts. "Occasionally I need a sly one."

Shirou said nothing and the silence began to stretch. The Doctor, turned to state out the window, his face inquisitive. When he turned back, his face was ashen.

"You know the real kicker?" He continued. "I won't be surprised if that bastard, Abelard, faked this whole mess so that he could take credit for the invention of the process."

Abelard, no last name given due to multitude of reasons Shirou was not privy to, was the project manager of SquidCo. A man with less than Stellar qualities.

"He'd told me that he had arranged for a way to smuggle Mr. Fizzi to safety utilizing the cyborg-for-hire, Machine Jones, but... with the way things are shaping up to be, I doubt that's the man's real intention."

Mr. Welk raised his cigarette to his lips and his head exploded, covering Shirou in gore. An eyeball flew past his head as the now headless body fell. He caught the corpse and kicked the desk, flipping it onto its side to use as cover. Wind sucked through the small bullet hole in the thick glass window. He looked down at Mr. Welk. An innocent man who didn't deserve the hand Fate dealt him. Or to be just another man's stepping stone in his greedy quest.

It was obvious who had, whether directly or indirectly, killed the man.

Abelard.

He sighed as he ran for the still open door. He made it out of Mr. Welk's office and back to the ornate staircase when a synthetic female voice sounded from behind me. "Stop you murderer."

For some stupid reason, he did just that.

"Die scum." She shouted, then shot him.

* * *

**Review, follow and favorite this story, along with my other stories, the interesting ones at least. This really motivates me to write more. Check out my account I created on IG to promote my stories on different platforms, not just on this site. ghostwriterdt. You can also follow me to get the latest news on updates, even excerpts of chapters in work. **

**Thanks y'all. And motivate me by helping reach my follower count to 300. Until next time.**


	4. Chapter Three

**To the guest that wrote the best long-ass review ever, I have an equally long-ass reply for you at the end of the chapter. Please read it.**

* * *

**I am sorry for the fake chapter notice, it was my fault. On that note, I would like to inform y'all that I have moved this story from the "spider-man" category to the "avengers" category. I realized the former category won't allow me the room to fully expand on the plot I have in mind. Thanks HarmonyDST05 for pointing it out to me. **

* * *

**S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Sword**

* * *

**Chapter Three – Race Against Time**

* * *

For reasons unknown to Peter Parker, Mr. Stark instructed him to be on the lookout for any possible S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in his school. His mind immediately went to the new student, the 'local hero' according to the Daily Bugle, but the thought was crossed out as quickly as it came.

That would be so obvious.

On the topic of Mr. Stark, it was quite a surprise that he allowed him to attempt this mission. Maybe, he was beginning to realize he was truly capable of attempting increasingly difficult tasks.

_No more D-rank missions for this boy!_

Grinning behind the mask, he ran along the side of a building, a press on the palm sensors and a web was released, attaching itself to a flag embedded in an adjacent building. He swung, his momentum carrying him round the building and to the air. Relinquishing his hold on the web, he allowed himself a few moment of respite before shooting out another web and swinging himself down.

He knew he could not allow his happiness to cloud his judgement and jeopardize the mission. Mr. Stark had given him an opportunity he was not going to waste. With a twist he landed softly on the ground, far away to avoid been seen yet near enough to observe.

Several henchmen patrolled the perimeter, and two more were on the roof watching the surrounding streets and buildings. The windows on the first, second, and fourth levels were closed, possibly sealed, and most likely warded. The majority of those on the third level were open to the flow of fresh night breeze. That, combined with the fact that the third floor was the most accessible from the outside, indicated that the level probably contained the sleeping quarters.

Peter flitted across the road. With a near full moon, the night was not dark enough to hide his presence. There were no trees or decorative structures in this area, so the shadows were few. It meant he could see the guards fairly well, so he was extra careful to move only when they were out of view or their backs were turned. He approached one lackey from the side yard and rendered him unconscious before the man knew he had been struck. Peter dragged the man to the side of the building, propping him against it with his webs, hoping the body would be hidden by the eave, at least for a while.

He wished he had more time to do things properly, but he was never one for plans. He usually did things by the seat of his pants, so he worked with what he got.

Though the building's outer wall was plastered, it won't be able to stop him from climbing. After a quick survey of the yard, he placed a palm on the wall, feeling the minute hair-like protrusions attach itself to it. He began scaling the wall, his arms and legs spread out, and chest less than an inch from the cemented structure.

Without much effort, his thoughts went back to his pseudo-guardian and his latest instruction. Much of his suspicions were left out of the conversation, probably deemed not important enough to disclose. But that was the problem to Peter, how was he to know who the agent was when he didn't even get a tell or some kind of info from Mr. Stark. Literally any hint he could give to make the search easier.

To be fair, it was possible that Mr. Stark may not have any info on the agent. But that was unbelievable. This was _the _Iron-man he was talking — er — thinking about.

Since no one sounded an alarm, Peter felt it unlikely his entrance had been noticed. He released the strung web from the cartridge as he surveyed the dark room. He felt no sense of anyone's presence, besides the small animal that streaked out the door upon his arrival. He thought it might have been a cat, and based on the smell, it was a constant on this level.

It was quite a cliché for a crime boss to own a pet, a cat to be exact, but who was he to judge. This experience may even coerce him to buy one of his own.

A dog maybe. The thoughts of that particular furry pet has always got him excited, though not in the way most girls — and guys — prefer. Which would be really weird if he did get _excited _when dogs came to mind, and most likely illegal. Very illegal.

Moving on, the presence of the beast was advantageous for Peter, though, because it was unlikely there would be any strong trap on this level or any of the floors on which the cat was permitted. If it was too strong, the cat would set them off, and no one would get any sleep. In fact, he barely had to try when he slipped through the trap on the window. His goal was to find the shipped cargos, but the room in which he presently crouched in was not a cellar of some kind. Dark silhouettes made clear by his lenses, courtesy of **Karen**, led him to believe it a study.

Sounds of hurried but cautious footsteps of multiple people could be heard ascending wooden stairs not far from the room's entrance. He hid behind the doorframe where he could see into the corridor though not in the direction of the stairwell. A small white cat with one blue eye and one green sat staring at him from across the hall. Peter frowned from behind the mask, and though it could not see his visage, the cat slowly blinked unconcernedly. The cat's attention was suddenly captured by the source of heavy footsteps that were approaching his doorway. It turned and scurried away.

"It has to be this room," one man whispered. "Its strange behavior seems to be focused here."

"The traps weren't activated," a second said.

"Maybe not, but the cat knows," the first replied.

The rush of footsteps on the stairs preceded a sudden announcement. "Boss! Murdock was just found unconscious in the yard. Covered in webs!"

Peter was impressed. He had barely made it into the room and already he had been exposed by the furry little beast. The sounds of shuffling bodies and the drawing of weapons reached his ears. He may not have much of a plan but even he knew it would only hinder his actions tonight if he drew the guards' attention quickly. And what did he unknowingly do ladies and gentlemen, you guessed it right! He drew their attention.

Way to go Parker.

"Alright!" The first man, presumably the boss, announced. "We know you're in there! You might as well come out, Spider-man. But don't make any sudden moves, we have three guns aimed your way."

Peter thought it considerate of the man to provide him the number of guns with which he had to contend. Feeling the beginning of a plan form, he stuck out his arm out into the hall to wave at the guards. A bullet whizzed past the doorway, and he jerked his hand back. Luckily for him, the man had poor aim.

Stormtrooper syndrome, am I right?

"Hold your fire!" Called the boss, and then Peter heard a _thump_ that sounded much like someone being struck on the helmet. In a quieter yet irritated voice, the boss said, "he won't come out if you're shooting at him, you idiot." He raised his voice again and announced. "We won't fire if you come out peaceably."

Peter stuck his hand out into the hallway again. When it was not fired upon, the rest of his body followed. He stepped with large strides so that he stood closer to the far wall than the center of the corridor. It was to his good fortune, because two more bullets shot through the air where the henchmen has apparently expected him to stop.

This was truly a serious case of STS. Knowing that proper medical attention was needed before it reached its critical stage, he told as much to the boss.

But was it their fault? He supposed not. A main character, he was.

See what he did there?

The three crouching hit-and-miss were hurriedly attempting to reload. Behind them stood the boss and two additional lackeys with weapon drawn. Their weapon — most likely a dagger because of its rather small size — was effective for indoor combat due to the aforementioned physical property.

Before the shooters could release their bullets, he said. "I'm gonna go on a limb and say, you guys want it the hard way. And I don't mean that _hard _because that will just be—"

"The rumors _are_ true. You really talk too much." The man scowled before shaking his head, pointing his dagger at Peter.

"I try," was the short response.

He didn't know, but somehow, the scowl dipped further, digging deep grooves in the man's skin. "You are an intruder in this premises."

"Really," the sarcasm was so thick, it could drop down the boss's Eggman-esque mustachio. "I never knew. I was rather deluded in believing invited guests were expected to enter through the window. Oh dear. Now I realized why there were no ladders."

"Shut up! Surrender or die," said the boss.

Peter tilted his head. "No."

The boss blinked. "What? You can't just say no. Surrender now."

"Why?"

"You are surrounded!"

"Yeah… but where's the army? I expected quite much if I do say so myself."

"What do you mean by—"

"What is going on here?" A man hollered as he came around the corner at the end of the hallway.

Peter could see that the building was arranged so that a corridor circled the level with the rooms arranged extending from its outer perimeter. A sturdy wooden stairwell occupied the center.

"Ah, I see the actual boss has graciously agreed to meet with me," Peter said.

_Woah…_

He was a bit surprised to see what followed in the actual boss's wake, though. Cats. Many, many cats. Perhaps twenty of them.

This brought a whole new definition to cat-person. And crazy. They usually were; It was like a two-for-one deal.

"Spider-man—"

"That's me!"

"Why have you broken into my home in the middle of the night?" The actual boss — or AB for short since saying 'actual boss' every time would get tiring real quick — shouted from behind the wall of henchmen.

"Greetings random bad guy I do not know. I am here to take from your hands those illegal shipments."

"You seem to have grown bold, breaking into the estate of a crime lord." The man snatched the cap from his head, gripping it tightly as he posted at Peter. "You are not welcome here, Spider-man. If you have evidence of a crime, you may bring it before the magistrate, and he will determine if it is worthy of his attention." He tugged at his bedclothes and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Your break in is not only a crime in itself, it is highly disrespectful." He continued, muttering beneath his breath as he surveyed the feline hoard. "Breaking into a man's home in the middle of the night… disturbing his rest… dragging him from his bed… being a general wiseass… By the Hells! Capture this fool. Kill him if you must!"

Peter immediately fell backward to the ground, just in time to avoid three bullets that became lodged in the wall behind where he had been standing. As he rolled to his feet, he launched three consecutive webs at the men, striking and disabling each of their weapons. Before any had time to react, Peter was upon them. He ducked under the boss's thrust aimed at his chest and, mindful of his strength, smashed the man in the side of his knee. The man crumpled with a shout, but swung his sword mightily at Peter's head. He dodged and punched the boss in the temple, spinning him around and leaving him dazed. Peter kicked him in the back sending him spilling into the other henchmen.

It was to his advantage that there were so many guards in the cramped hall. As he was positioned, only perhaps two could reach him at a time, and the others were making it difficult for them to maneuver effectively. While it was apparent that they had a fair amount of indoor combat training, their methods were better suited for either larger invading force or apprehension of a lesser-experienced singular opponent.

Peter has just elbowed one of the henchmen in the stomach when his feet suddenly became entangled and a screeching yowl resounded through the corridor. He managed to recover just in time to dodge a sword thrust at his chest whilst trying to resist the headache he felt.

"Woah! Almost got me there."

He dodged a swing at his head and smashed another man in the face with his elbow just before his foot came down with a crunch on a squirming rope. His leg gained an extra ten pounds when the cat latched onto his boot. It was absurd. The cats were actually running _into _the fray and attacking him.

It was a _cat_astrophe. He was forced to shift awkwardly to avoid stepping on a black-and-white shorthair, and a yellow tabby was suddenly flying at his face as it leaped off a guard's back. Peter ducked and turned, leaving his side exposed just long enough for one of the guards to tackle him.

The two struck the ground, and Peter immediately wrapped his legs around the man's middle. He grabbed the guard by the collar, lifted his own hips and twisted his body, wrestling control as he gained the upper position. With a powerful fist to the jaw, the man was rendered unconscious, but got no reprieve as tiny claws attacked his lenses. He snatched the calico and tossed it down the corridor. It slid across the floor bowling into the feline ranks, unable to avoid the splitter webs that adhered them to the floor.

Never had Peter thought he would endure such an attack. In his experience, cats tended to run _away _from such chaos. It was either the cats had been genetically experimented on, which was just plain wrong, or there were mystic elements at work. The AB was keeping his distance, but the intensity of his gaze was telling.

As the final henchmen was subdued, he said, with one arm at his waist and the other's finger wagging in a disappointed manner. "Really, cats? You couldn't control humans — which is also bad — but still… why cats?!"

The AB did not let up, though. Peter did not care for the idea of hurting the cats even if his earlier methods weren't exactly safe. They were animals, beasts without contempt. Fluffy, little and cute animals. Maybe he should get a cat instead of a dog. Or maybe both.

Back to the situation at hand.

They were not wild animals, they were common house cats, and he was not in danger of being killed, though mutilation was a possibility. If and only if his suit was taken off. Still, he did not feel right about killing the little creatures. These were under the control of a man, and Peter would much prefer to contend with the source.

He seized a long-haired, cream-colored fur ball, one of the many few that had managed to escape his bind. It had tried to scale his leg and he tossed it at the magic-user of unknown sub-category. The AB cringed and covered his face as the cat plummet into him, clawing at his scalp for purchase and then leaping away. The AB lost his concentration and the cats scattered, disappearing through doorways and around corners in a matter of seconds.

"Now that that's taken care of, how about you lead me to the goods, AB. Pretty please with sprinkles on top? And I really need to know your name… don't wanna end up as the nameless villain Spider-man took down in tomorrow's newspaper…"

He trailed off as something screamed at the back of his head, urging him to dodge.

_Dodge what?_

The feeling so foreign yet familiar, it throbbed and pulsed with each breathe that escaped, synchronized with the frantic beating of his heart.

Almost as if on a whim he turned, but was too late. A metallic arm, an intimate appendage, cut through the air, faster than he could avoid. It struck his head with the force of a speeding truck and transferred all built up momentum.

It wasn't wrong to say he flew faster than a speeding bullet, head first, and collided with the cemented wall. A crack heralded the unholy matrimony.

But that wouldn't be enough to take him out.

Groggy, and with a hazy vision, he stood. A man, clad in a lab coat and google, walked toward him aided by his metallic appendage.

"Doc…tor Oc..topus..." Peter slurred.

The Doctor smirked. "Remember what I told you in our last encounter." He paused as a lone arm rose, poised and ready to strike. "I'm sure you don't — probably took it as a crazy villain's ramble. Well, allow me to remind you: you have a much bigger role to play than the theatrics you are known for. A role that in all seriousness, will usher in a new weapon for the 'Dark'. The 'Light' possesses a sword. What better way to combat a sword other than to use a shield. And you, my faithful adversary… are a key needed to unlock the door that hides the souls of them that shaped the world."

The lone arm descended quickly, hitting the masked hero with such speed and strength, a fissure was formed from the contact between head and ground. The hero didn't get up this time, his body sprawled haphazardly, though his chest rose and fell in tandem with the flow of air into his lungs.

He was alive, but for how long?… that remained to be seen. Doctor Octopus was not a man to give in easily to the cliché, yet he allowed himself to be lost in the cackles that bubbled forth.

* * *

Shirou's first thought upon waking was that Heaven looked surprisingly like his hotel room. Or maybe it was Hell. It was hard to differentiate. The loud buzzing of a mobile phone as it vibrated against the wooden table it sat on, was definitely from Hell.

His body hurt, and his mouth was dry. He reached over and picked up the small black phone. The second thought of the day ruptured in his mind. It wasn't his mobile. It was probably never good to wake up after being shot and find someone else's phone ringing next to you. At least that's what he'd gleamed from his limited experience.

The number on the screen was withheld. He pressed the little button shaped like a green phone to answer the call. "Yes," He said tentatively, still feeling woozy.

"Emiya, you have ten minutes to get up and get out of that room." It was at that moment that he realized the person on the phone was the director and that he was wearing only his shorts. "You are about to have contact with a group of very bad people."

That woke him up. Shirou sat bit upright, and immediately wished he hadn't. "What's wrong with me?" He asked, holding his head.

"You took a highly ionized gas to the head in an enclosed space from a trained mercenary. That's enough to put a man down for good."

_Oh, but then… _"Who saved me?"

"Don't worry about that for now," The man on the end on the phone said firmly. "You now have seven and a half minutes. Get dressed."

He turned on the phone's speaker, dropped it on the bed and hastily pulled on a pair of sweats and red t-shirts. "Where's my bag?"

"In a car downstairs. You have two minutes. I arranged to have the room below you paid for the night. You will need to jump off your balcony and catch the railing below."

He slipped on his shoes and hurried to the balcony. "Which one?"

"There's a red chair on it."

He found the red chair on the balcony one story down, and to the right of his. "Call me back," he said and disconnected the phone, placing it in his sweats pocket before climbing the railing.

It was windy out, and sitting precariously on top of a railing a hundred feet in the air does not make for a good thing to do. Even worse when one had been shot in the head the night before.

There was shouting from the hallway. After a bang on his room's door, he immediately launched himself onto the balcony, knocking the red chair flying as he rolled back to his feet. He opened the unlocked balcony doors and darted into the room.

The phone rang as he made his way through the room. "You made it," Nick Fury said. Or rather stated, already sure of the answer.

He looked around the almost identical room to his own. "Why didn't you just put me in here?"

"This is not a simple matter of Mr. Abelard's involvement in the death of Dr. Richard Welk. Though it is connected, it was merely a front to get an accurate read on you. At least that's my hypothesis. You were placed in that room to assuage any suspicion." What they were, the Director didn't say.

"So how do I get out of here?"

"Take the lift to the ground floor. The desk has a set of car keys for you. A Nissan GTR, black. It's completely clean. And don't worry about speed cameras or congestion charge. It's registered to a dummy corporation."

He opened the room door and looked into the empty hallway, ready for any nasty surprises. With none forthcoming, he started toward the lift. "Where do you want me to go?"

"The address is already placed into the car's sat nav. Spider-man's life hangs in the balance. You have just over two hours to get there, before Iron-man does."

The lift doors opened, the mirrored sides and lack of inhabitants made it appear much larger than it was. He stepped inside and pressed the chrome button for the ground floor. "And what do you want me to do when I find him?"

"That is up to you. But remember your primary objective."

After a brief conversation with the desk clerk, he left the hotel with a set of car keys in his possession. "What do you mean by 'this is up to you'?"

"This situation concerns unknowns. It is up to you to use your discretion to best take care of them while protecting the asset. If possible, ascertain the identity of the person behind the mask before Iron-man is involved in the equation."

"Why do these people want me?"

Shirou clicked the alarm on the keys. The beautiful Nissan beeped softly. He opened the boot and pulled out his balaclava from his bag. He removed his own phone from the bag and put it in his pocket.

"It has to do with your method of arrival…" He paused for a moment. "There isn't time to explain further. You need to go. _Now_." Nick Fury hung up before he could say anything else. So he got into the car, and after tossing the knitted cap onto the passenger seat, started the engine that roared to life.

Shirou had no idea what was going on, but what ever it was, it would be explained to him after this time-limited mission. He clicked the power button for the sat nav and watched the screen flick to life, the route already shown on the screen as a red line. He tapped one of the buttons to reveal his destination and felt all the air rush out of him as he pressed down on the pedal.

His only hope was that he didn't arrive late.

* * *

**Dear Awesome Guest (AG),**

**First of all, thanks for the amazing review. I appreciate the time and effort it took you to compile and cross-check what you wrote.**

**Please note that I will talk on only those point I feel you misjudged or got wrong in regards to my story.**

**1) Nick Fury hates unknowns. He especially hates unknowns that are not under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s control. The organization's reach is so wide that sooner rather than later, Shirou would undoubtedly fall in their radar. He is simply saving them time. Why? Remember who brought him to the MCU and why. **

**2) I feel a person shouldn't depend entirely on his/her abilities, tools or resources for every situation. You wrote about 'Carnwennan' and its ability to shroud users. Utilizing it is not out of the question, yeah, but the reliance on his swords (especially for a guy that can spawn a sword for every situation) will make a bad read. In my opinion, it's like every fight would be him just using only his sword to end it. Nothing but the weapon of choice would be utilized. Not intelligence, wisdom, etc. I don't know if you are getting the point I am trying to make. To help elucidate further, lemme liken Shirou to a HPverse wizard. Their reliance on magic had made most of them physically unfit. I'm sure most of them think like this: why do I need to stand up and get food from the kitchen when I can simply mutter a spell and it would come to me. This, while it may increase the person's aptitude for magic or the ability in use, will inadvertently staunch the person's growth in other areas. Most notably, physical.**

**3) I wasn't alluding to him being dense. Though I may have laid it on a bit thick, I was simply reiterating his lack of some basic communication skills. You can't expect a person brought into another world with only the knowledge of his abilities to be able to speak and function normally. There would be differences. This is what I was referring to. Shirou on a normal day is pretty smart. To see examples of his intelligence in action, go back to his fight scenes.**

**4) Shirou Emiya, in my story is a teen bereft of his memories and experiences, except those that pertain to the use of his magecraft. As it will be counterproductive to completely erase his memories, they were sealed. That's why I used that analogy in the first chapter: "The boy searched through the dense fog of his memories. But he came up empty. His mind was a locked box inside a vault. And by the looks of it, he had lost the key. In desperation, he mentally slammed his fists against the metaphysical vault. It shuddered and trembled from his assault. He could almost grasp the answer, the knowledge, but it remained stubbornly out of reach." Everything I write is for a reason not just some half attempt at a plot. Another example I can use to explain this point is to use the case of a rape victim, I know it's a bit graphic and extreme but it fit my point. Even if you erase the victim's memories of the event, his/her subconscious will still remember. This is evident in the nightmares, sudden change in emotion or constant feeling of fear whenever the name of the rapist is heard or the person is near. The subconscious can never forget something it intimately knows. In the above example, it is more literal.**

**I hope I explained my points well and that you will continue reading my story. I don't know when next I will update as I am not feeling really well. But until then, please review and follow this story along with my others. And check out my IG page, ghostwriterdt.**


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